THE HAUNTED HOUSE BY ID (House Whispered in Tragedy)

In midnight's shroud, where shadows dance so bleak,

A soul didst wander, lost, no words to speak.

The moon, a pale witness, cast a feeble light,

Revealing a house, abandoned, clothed in night.

Its ancient walls stood tall, with secrets deep,

Whispers of the past, forever to keep.

Through creaking door, the wanderer didst tread,

A path of dread, where darkness fear didst spread.

Within, a chill embraced the hollow air,

An eerie silence, suffocating, unfair.

The floorboards groaned beneath each cautious stride,

As if the house itself in torment cried.

A portrait hung, its subject gaunt and pale,

Eyes void of life, its gaze a haunting tale.

The wanderer's heart, consumed by growing dread,

Yet onwards pressed, compelled by forces spread.

The corridor stretched, a labyrinth of despair,

A labyrinth that led to nowhere but nowhere.

Whispers echoed, softly, from the unseen,

A chorus of ghostly voices, so unclean.

With trembling hand, the wanderer reached a door,

Behind it lay the darkness, forevermore.

With bated breath, the handle turned with care,

Revealing horrors, beyond all one could bear.

A room ensnared by time's malevolent grip,

Its walls adorned with stains, a harrowing trip.

Crimson splatters, a macabre work of art,

Visions of suffering etched upon each part.

A presence lurked, unseen, yet keenly felt,

An entity that in this realm didst dwelt.

Its icy fingers caressed the wanderer's spine,

The veil between worlds growing thin, malign.

In that room of dread, where spirits converge,

The wanderer became a ghostly dirge.

Forever trapped within that haunted space,

A tormented soul, lost in eternal chase.

And so, dear reader, heed this solemn plea,

Beware the houses whispered in tragedy.

For in the darkness, horrors lie in wait,

To claim lost souls, sealing their damning fate.

:: 07.16.2023 ::

Author's Note

For students of poetry: In this poem, each stanza consists of four lines, with an alternating rhyme scheme of ABAB. The lines predominantly follow an iambic tetrameter, with eight syllables in each line and a pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables. This regular rhythm helps to create a musical quality and a sense of momentum as the story unfolds.

Reviews

[emipoemi]

I have to say, this piece is very POE-tic, but according to your description, I can't in good conscience call it poetic. The POE-tic qualities give it a very chilling aspect that's commendable. You give it the proper chill and charm that keeps readers engaged in the story itself. But the engagement unfortunately isn't by any means to the fullest extent as you don't do as you describe. For starters, your iambs are in pentameter (5 feet) and you barely keep your iambs intact all the way (you kind of slip in Line 3 and at various instances onward, even adding an extra syllable that defeats the pentameter and irregulates the rhythm). You also employ the couplet rhyme scheme and use "didst" wrong. The "-st" suffix is second person archaic used for when "thou" is the subject. Third person archaic has "-th" as the suffix that sometimes replaces the final consonant (but in the case of "did" it doesn't). Again, your weaving of the story is commendable enough, but your weaving of the poetic elements not so much, so I would advise you to emend those if you want the readers to derive the fullest enjoyment and experience from this intriguing piece. Forgive me if I had come off a little harsh, not my intention. Hope my comments help. Great start!

[E.P. Robles]

What can I say? I am a rebel. Since I know the rules I break them. And I hope you enjoyed finding the strewed bones upon the field of poetry. I know academia would also have the same reaction. Anything different is blasphemy. I really appreciated your response!

[emipoemi]

always happy to help where I can. it's one thing to break rules with knowledge but it's another to break rules and still not have the best musicality. unless there was some shrewdly concealed intention to the occasional irregular rhythm, there would be more power in a consistent flow.

[E.P. Robles]

The great thing about poetry is that everyone has a voice to discern the meaning. I normally leave notes about my poetry. I have them but others have said I cheat them from understanding their own meanings. Peace to you! :)